Azren Luoming's eyes slowly fluttered open.
The first thing that met his gaze was light—bright, white, almost blinding. It wasn't sunlight, but rather the glow of a computer monitor sitting directly in front of him. His eyes adjusted as he blinked, and he saw the faint outline of a familiar table beneath it — green, made of wood with metallic legs, the paint chipped around the edges from years of use.
His right hand rested lazily on a mouse, fingers gently curled. A black keyboard sat before him, slightly dusty, with worn-out keys from constant typing.
The light pouring out from the monitor painted his face in cold colors, and behind it, a curtain danced softly in the breeze of a ceiling fan, its faint hum mixing with the peaceful quiet of the room.
Azren blinked again.
His eyes scanned his surroundings.
The modern desk lamp with its neck bent down.
His bookshelf, half-filled with manga and paperbacks.
A headset tossed carelessly beside the monitor.
And the slight vibration of his mobile phone lying screen-down on the desk.
"Huh… I'm in my room?" he muttered under his breath.
But he didn't move.
He just sat there, still, trying to process the warmth and familiarity around him.
"Was that all… a dream?" he asked softly.
He shook his head, chuckling nervously. "It should be. There's no way something like that could be real…"
But as soon as he blinked again—
Everything changed.
The moment his eyes opened, he was no longer in the glow of a monitor, no longer wrapped in the safety of technology and electric comfort.
He was now sitting on a wooden chair, rough and uneven. His clothes had changed — no longer modern, but a dusty old shirt and worn-out pants, far too big for his small frame.
Because he was now… a child.
Before him stood an old, circular table made from dark wood, full of cracks and stains. On it sat a plate holding baked potato soup, steam still rising faintly into the air. Beside it, a wooden cup filled with murky, barely clean water. Simple, but familiar.
"Huh…" Azren blinked, stunned.
A soft, gentle laugh drifted from the space in front of him.
He slowly raised his head.
There, standing just beyond the table, was a young woman. Her body looked frail. Her black hair was messy, strands falling over her thin face. She wore old clothes — faded, patched in places — but her presence was warm. Her eyes… were completely white, clouded like fog, yet somehow… still filled with love.
She laughed again, hand to her lips.
Azren stared at her, breath caught in his throat.
Then, almost instinctively, the word escaped his lips in a soft, trembling whisper—
"Mother…"
She smiled even wider at the sound of his voice. Her lips parted gently and she spoke in a tone that was sweet and airy.
"Honey, did you hear? Azren says he's going to marry a very rich woman and give us all the grandchildren we want... and a happy life."
Her words were full of quiet joy.
From the far corner of the dimly lit room came a soft chuckle.
Azren turned.
There, where a tiny candle flickered with a bluish flame, sat a man. He was seated on a low stool, his hands busy cutting a dirty carrot with a rusty knife. His body was average, not muscular, but strong from work. Faint scars marked his arms. He had silky black hair, combed back but a bit greasy, and his eyes were pure black, deep and unreadable. His clothes were simple — old and patched, like hers — but they fit him like a second skin.
Azren's heart thudded.
He knew that face.
Another whisper slipped from his lips—softer this time, but heavy with emotion.
"Father…"
The man let out a hearty laugh without looking up.
"Hahaha! Really? Our son is going to do something like that for us?"
He chuckled again, shaking his head as he sliced through another carrot.
From across the table, the woman laughed along, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"HaHaHa Maybe, our son is such a dreamer." she said sweetly.
Azren just sat there — frozen.
The voices. The smell of the soup. The warmth of the candlelight.
Everything felt so real.
So familiar.
And in that fragile, quiet moment — he wasn't sure anymore if he was dreaming…
Or remembering.
Then suddenly—heat.
A sharp, blazing warmth pressed against Azren's back, so intense it stung his skin. He felt the air change, thickening, becoming hotter with each breath. Then, behind him, a bright yellow light flared, casting long shadows in front of him.
His eyes widened, body tensing.
He quickly turned around—
And everything was different.
He was no longer sitting at the old wooden table. The chair, the soup, the voices—gone.
He stood now on a dusty dirt floor, scattered with debris and soaked with patches of blood. The smell of ash and smoke filled his lungs.
Right in front of him, a massive fire raged.
A house—no, a home—was being consumed by flames, reduced to ash right before his eyes. The crackling wood, the distant screams, the orange glow licking the sky—it was like the whole world was burning.
His eyes widened in shock. His body instinctively turned to run, to escape—
But as he spun around, he saw it.
Standing just behind him.
A figure.
Humanoid, but twisted. Its entire body was pitch black, like shadows had taken form. Its flesh rippled like liquid flame. From within that searing blackness, two eyes glowed—one deep red, the other a stark white.
They stared directly at him.
Azren's heart stopped.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
Then—
BOOM!
His eyes snapped open.
He gasped, chest heaving, lungs begging for air. Sweat clung to his skin.
Above him was an unfamiliar ceiling, smooth and grey.
Before he could even think, a soft and sweet female voice, high and cheerful like a bell, chimed from beside him.
"Oh! Looks like he's awake!" she said, her voice light, like a little bird speaking.
Azren jolted upward in panic, his back stiff and eyes wild, he was sweating heavily.
In front of him sat two people, watching him closely.
The first was a middle-aged man, tall and sturdy, with long, light black hair that touched his shoulders, dark eyes, and a face framed by a thick beard and moustache.
Beside him was a younger woman, likely in her early twenties, with light purple hair tied back in a ponytail and bright purple eyes that shimmered with curiosity.
Both were dressed in strange yet sharp-looking blue uniforms—like something out of a 90s police movie but more vibrant. Their outfits had crisp collars, dark blue ties, and matching caps with silver emblems on the front that read:
PEACE.
Azren glared at them, eyes filled with confusion and unease.
'Huh? Where am I?' he thought.
His head turned slowly as he scanned the room—if it could be called that.
The walls were wooden, curved. The space was tight. He realized he was inside a horse-drawn Carriage, but it wasn't moving. The floor didn't shake. The wheels didn't creak.
The windows were covered from the inside with brown curtains, blocking the view beyond.
Azren froze.
His mind raced.
'How… how did I get here? And who are these peo—'
But just then, a flicker.
His vision warped—a memory.
Blurry but sharp enough to hit hard.
The same uniform. The same blue color. The same emblem. Two officers. Screaming. Their fists beating down a man in the mud. One of them shouting with disgust—
"You dirty slum bastard! How dare you touch me!"
Azren's eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
'Police… These people… They're not good… I have to get out of here.'
He turned his head to the side slowly, eyes locking onto the Carriage's door.
An escape.
The girl tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Hey boy, tell me—how did you survive?" she asked kindly, but he didn't listen.
His attention was locked on the door. Calculating.
'It's not moving… I can escape…'
Then the girl's eyes widened slightly, reading the look in his eyes.
Her voice rose slightly, panicked.
"No, wait! We're not—"
But it was too late.
Azren launched forward, his body reacting before his mind could stop it. He grabbed the door, shoved it open, and burst through the curtains.
But—
He didn't hit the ground.
The moment he leapt through, a rush of wind slammed into his face.
His body dropped—fast.
His eyes widened in horror.
Below him was no land—only a vast sea of clouds, stretching as far as he could see.
And above?
He twisted in mid-air, looking up.
The horse Carriage was flying—soaring through the sky like a ship of the heavens. The horses pulling it had sleek black armor, each wearing the same blue police uniform draped across their backs like saddles, complete with matching caps on their heads. Their manes flowed with wind, and their hooves left behind trails of faint light in the air.
Behind the Carriage—high above—it wasn't just the sun shining.
There were two moons, one on each side of the sun.
To the right, a reddish-orange moon, its surface swirling with ember-like patterns, like a flame trapped inside.
To the left, a pale silver moon, almost translucent, glowing with a cold and quiet light.
Azren stared at them as the wind howled past him.
His eyes narrowed.
"The daytime moons… Lunhuo and Tengomi…"
And as the words left his mouth—
He dropped straight into the ocean of clouds.